Readers, its been AGES since I've written anything remotely resembling worthy fan fiction (if you even categorize my previous attempts as worthy), and the first time I've ever posted something POTO-related. I hope this doesn't disappoint. Let's see if I can get back into the swing of things and stretch some writing muscles.)

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Exploration

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Christine's gentle fingers trace circles on the back of Erik's hand, her body relaxed against his chest. She has an idea, he knows, of what she is doing to him: how surely she is stroking his never-ceasing, restless desire for her, but her breathing only deepens as she continues her lazy exploration of his hand.

She's become fascinated with them of late, tracing their long swines and veins, brushing her own fingers against his any chance that arises. The rhythm of his heart increases when he thinks of the times she's brought them to her mouth, warming the appendages with her lips and teeth and tongue.

And at night, far past when the candles have burned to their end, she reaches for his hands, twining them around her body to hold her close.

Erik swallows thickly, hoping to calm his already racing heart. What a fool he is still, astounded by her affection freely given.

As though bidden by his thoughts, Christine lifts his hand in hers, bringing it up against her soft mouth, "What's wrong, husband dear?" Her lips smile on the back of his hand. She knows. Of course she knows what she is doing to him, how that term of endearment makes him burn for her. And tonight she relishes her own mischievousness.

He softly kisses the top of her head, "Nothing at all, wife." He is glad the fire is warm next to them and the pile of pillows plush in this part of his home. He has a feeling they will be very much without clothes soon.

Christine's smile only widens. "But your heart is beating so fast. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

A strangled laugh escapes to his throat, but Erik stays silent, knowing full well that Christine desires participation, not commentary. If he answers her, he might break the spell. She rises away from him and turns her body, knees carefully set between his slender thighs. Her simple white linen gown glows in the candlelight, diffusing an angelic halo about her. Oh, to be that supple cloth, always pressed against her skin. There were entire years he had been jealous of those fibers.

Christine brings his hand to her mouth again, her flushed lips sucking at the cold skin of his palm just below his thumb. She can feel his pulse even there, he is sure. Her warm eyes gaze into his and they are laced with desire and love. His heart nearly stops: such a look never ceases to strike him to the depths of his soul. "Christine," he hisses, pulling away.

Her grip tightens about his wrist. "Erik, let me explore." Deep and seductive, Christine's voice leaves no room for argument and he has no desire to argue. His momentary bout of overwhelming astonishment extinguished as soon as it flared to life. He nods once nevertheless, acknowledging her command.

She answers him by skirting her lips down his thin arm, pushing up the fabric of his lose shirtsleeves as she goes. The wet trail left by her lips blazes in the aftermath of her wicked mouth. Erik's skin suddenly feels too tight, too close to her, too chilled where her body does not touch his. His porcelain mask is frigid against his face.

He smirks at the thought. Christine hates the mask on him when they are alone. Her seductions normally begin with the slow removal of that essential article of dress. For her to ignore it must mean she is singularly preoccupied with her goal.

All Erik's thoughts evaporate like steam when Christine's tongue tastes the pulse at his neck. It's gentle rasp over his throbbing artery sparking down his spine - hardening his nipples and pooling with a hardening ache in his groin. "Your heart is still racing, husband," she moans in his ear.

His hands travel to her tousled hair, half the pins already discarded around them. The noise that escapes her lips is not another moan, yet not a sigh either - it is a sinful, wicked breath. Erik uses his long, cool finger to his advantage, massaging her scalp in the same, slow circles Christine had teased him with. His thumb splaying under her chin, and it is his turn to knowingly grin, "It seems we're both afflicted tonight."

Christine bites at her lower lip, sending another spear of want through him. His wife only bites her lower lip when she wants his, and he would like nothing more than to loose himself in her lips at length, this hungry tongue seeking and devouring her. "Why deny yourself wife? I'm at your disposal."

A glorious blush rises from her chest to her cheeks, her eyes darting away from his to her roaming hands. It is an absent movement, he knows: she takes the same path night after night in the dark, enjoying the feel of him under her palms. Her travels are meant to sooth her and are quite wholly ignorant of the blind lust they provoke in her bedmate.

Christine leans her head against his, pressing the edge of his mask between their foreheads, "If I kiss you now, I'll never get to where I'm going."

"Where are y—" Christine does lightly brush a kiss on the edge of his misshapen lips and drops again to explore the valleys of his chest. His lips follow hers in a futile act of supplication, desperate for more. Soon Christine's tossed away his shirtsleeves from his body. What were languid movements before have become focused — a kiss near his heart, a swift bite on his chest, a suck at his taut nipple, a rolling lick around his navel — the whole time her hands travel down his sides to find the buttons of his trousers.

And his hands, God forgive him, cannot seem to find a way out of Christine's heavy tresses.

Erik's whole body strings taut when he realizes his wife's small hand is splayed low across his abdomen, fingertips twitching into his buzzing skin. Her other one braced heavily on his left thigh, as if her force there will keep him steady with her.

Christine's deep eyes look into his and there is a flicker of annoyance in them as she realizes he still bears his mask, but she makes no comment. Her pause is madness. She is right - desire pulses through his veins and all he wants is her body under his and to be solely focused on their mutual pleasure. Enough with her exploration. Erik pulls at Christine's neck to draw her up and her flushed cheeks burn a deeper crimson than sunset over the Seine. Christine pushes against him and drops her mouth to follow her hand past his hips to his hard cock.

Realization and the graze of Christine's wet lips on the tip of him have Erik gasping her name as raw sensation overtakes his body. Blood roars in his ears — screaming his wife's act is at once both passionate and profane. But he is hard and aching and her warm mouth is so curious. He shutters a sharp curse and bites his own bulbous lip.

Christine worships him with her lips and tongue, sucking him deep into the wet cavern of her mouth only to rise and release him with a pop. Before he has a chance to recover, she is tracing his throbbing veins, her hands lovingly holding him at attention. He will not last long; not when Christine's mouth has become molten wickedness unleashed upon him.

If she wants to tease him, she has no voice for it, but Erik drinks in her heavy moans, rising from around his cock. The vibration of them a luscious sin. It seems this act, like her wandering hands in the dark, is just as much about her pleasure as his. Involuntarily, his fingers flex in her hair when she sucks at the spot between is cock and sac. They sigh together when she again sucks his crown into her. All his want pools low in his belly; his hips begin to lift on their own, thrusting against Christine's mouth in uneven movements.

She takes his hand from her hair and entwines his fingers with hers, eyes rising to meet his own. Her look of power and lust unravel him. With a final thrust of his hips, his release fills her mouth. Christine only sucks harder, swallowing him as his choked bellow fills their small sitting room. Her mouth gentles upon him, drawing out his pleasure, until she returns to peppering soft kisses against his skin.

The smile upon her lips is triumphant and when she presses them to his own, slipping her tongue out to tease his upper lip, he can taste himself. A heavy breath forces them a part, Erik's thumb resting by her chin. "Dare I ask?"

Christine twists to allow his thumb purchase in her mouth, sucking it in a shallow mimic of her previous act. His other hand wraps around her waist and pulls her close against him. "I believe I've found the reason for your racing heart," she whispers.

Erik chuckles darkly, "Beloved, you know that has always been, and will forever always be, you."